Suddenly, we’re both in shock. How did we get here? What lead us to this moment? Why did he kiss me, and why did I kiss him back? Other than the obvious—he’s sexy, strong, and a good man.
I remove my arms from around him, and he steps back. I press my lips together and let out a giggle. “Sorry, I don’t drink much and one beer gets me. I should go,” I say, not giving him time to respond. I dash for the car and climb behind the wheel. I twist the key, throw it into reverse, then hit the gas. I don’t look back until I’m already down the road. Then I’m hit with the nerves. What was that? We kissed! And it was epic! His lips were soft and smooth, and he knew just the perfect amount to pressure to apply to make my knees weak. The way he held his hands against my body was hot and heavenly. And his scent—he always smells good, but up that close, it’s intoxicating. My head is still swimming from kissing him. But he has so much going on…and there is always Margo to consider. Is this something we can explore without hurting her? Without this ending badly?
Six
Carson
I stand back and watch as her taillights disappear into the darkness. I’m breathless from our kiss, and I have a million thoughts in my head, all of them similar: what the fuck did I just do? Why did I kiss her? I probably just chased her off for good now. I took the only other person here that Margo has gotten close with and chased her away. Why did I do that? It doesn’t matter how hard I’m trying to ignore how badly I want her. I never should have risked something like this. And for what? A kiss? An innocent kiss?
I’m angry and disgusted with myself as I head into the house, locking the door behind me. The first thing I do is check on Margo, and she’s sound asleep in her bed. Her dark hair is smoothed into a braid and her lips are pursed together. The room is quiet except for the sounds of her deep, even breathing.
I close the door behind me and go for a shower, needing to get all this sawdust off of me and out of the places it doesn’t belong. I shower quickly and head back downstairs. I open the fridge and pull out the leftovers and a beer. I toss the plate of spaghetti and garlic bread into the microwave and pour some dressing over the small salad that’s in its own separate bowl.
I open the beer and take a swig. By the time I’m setting it down onto the counter, the microwave is beeping. I remove the plate and take everything back to the couch to eat in front of the TV. I turn on the news and dig into my spaghetti. On the first bite, I’m hooked. I only had one jar of sauce in there, and it doesn’t taste anything like this. I’ll have to ask her what she added into it. After this, jar sauce will never be the same.
I eat every last bit of food, unable to stop. By the time the plate is clean, I’m unable to move I’m so stuffed. It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten like that. Years. Since…Kate. I never cook real food. Maybe that’s something I should do. Take some classes so that I can at least feed Margo a little better. That kid lives off frozen chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, and SpaghettiO’s.
Full and tired, I end up passing out on the couch. I’m surprised when Margo is waking me up in the morning. “Daddy, breakfast,” she demands, shaking my arm.
“Alright, alright,” I agree, pushing myself up to sit. I rest my elbows on my knees and hang my head as I try to wake up. She just shoves her way up onto the couch, grabs the remote, and flips until she finds cartoons.
As the sounds of SpongeBob play through the speakers, I get up and head to the kitchen. I pour her a glass of milk like usual, but then decide to try my hand out in preparing something that isn’t frozen. I grab some eggs and whip them up to make scrambled eggs.
While I wait for them to start cooking, I throw a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster. When I turn around, the eggs are sticking to the pan, brown on one side. I quickly stir, hoping that it isn’t too far gone. Of course, I forget about the toast, and it pops up on its own, both sides black as can be. I grab the butter knife, scraping the black off until it looks normal.
I throw everything onto a plate, but even I have to admit it doesn’t look appealing. “Margo, breakfast is done,” I call, hoping she doesn’t notice.
She walks into the kitchen with her milk and sits at the table. I put her plate down in front of her, and her nose wrinkles. “What’s this mess?”
I almost laugh but hold it back. “It’s toast and scrambled eggs, just like you eat at Mama and Papa’s.”
She picks up the toast and lays it back down after looking at it carefully. “This isn’t like Mama’s.”
“Just taste it. It’s good.”
She takes a bite of the toast. “Blah. It taste burnt.”
“Fine. Try the eggs.”
She takes a bite and chews slowly. “Why are they crunchy? Mama’s eggs are soft.”
“Fine,” I say, taking the plate. “I’ll get you some cereal.”
She spins around in the chair to watch me. “We could go get donuts, you know?”
“No, we can’t go there and bother her every day. She has to work, Margo.”
She frowns. “But she likes us, Daddy.”
I smile. “She likes you, Margo,” I tell her as I pour some Cheerios into a bowl.
“No, she likes you too. She told me.”
I freeze. “What did she tell you?” I ask.
“That she likes you. Duh!” She rolls her dark eyes dramatically.
“What else did she say?” I feel bad pumping my five-year-old for information, but that doesn’t stop me. I pour milk into the bowl and take it to the table.
Margo turns and sits upright, grabbing the spoon and taking a big bite. “She said that you’re nice and a good daddy. She said you were cute too.” She giggles.
“She said I was cute?” I ask, confused as to why she would say that to a child.
She nods. “Yep. She said that I was lucky to have such a good daddy and I said, do you think he’s cute? And she said, of course he’s cute, where do you think you get it? Then she messed up my hair.” She takes another bite, and I can’t help but to smile to myself.
I wonder if she’s really attracted to me or if it was just something she felt she had to say to Margo’s question. Surely, the latter. But she did kiss me back so maybe not. Either way, it doesn’t matter, I remind myself. No matter how badly I want her, I can’t let it happen. For Margo’s sake.
I push away the excitement that fills my body. “Eat up. We’ve got some time to spend in the garage today.”
“Ugh, Dad,” she complains.
I laugh. “Sorry, kiddo, but you got out of it yesterday and I have some work to do.”
“Ugh,” she groans, rolling her eyes again.
“You know, if you keep rolling your eyes that way, you’re going to lose all control of them. That’s all they’ll do all day, just roll around in your head.”
She giggles, picturing it.
After breakfast, we both head out to the garage and Margo plays in the corner. We bring some toys out and her iPad for her. She plays for a while, then she moves on to watching YouTube Kids and snacking on Goldfish. She behaves extremely well for a young child, and I never have to get onto her. She doesn’t run off or play with things she knows she shouldn’t. It gives me the time I need to get some actual work done.